I Can't Let You Do That
by lifeinahole
Summary: The job is meant to be a quick one. Get in, crack the safe, grab the stuff, and get the hell out. But there is a complication that Killian hasn't accounted for when planning: Emma Swan. (Jewel Thief AU.)
1. Chapter 1

**This is going to be two parts. Today's is rated T for language, tomorrow's will be so very effing M. Because Pervy Thirty.** _(You should all know by now that dear author here is shitty with details, and somehow forgot to put in the characters on this one. If you ever notice I've done something like this, I beg you to tell me. Comment, PM, don't care. Come let me know that I've missed something vital. :D)_

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 **I can't let you do that:**

The job is meant to be a quick one. Get in, crack the safe, grab the stuff, and get the hell out. Some rich old ponce who has so many homes with so many vaults that there's a good chance by the time he figures out anything is missing, if he ever _does_ , Killian will be long rid of whatever he takes. But there is a complication that Killian hasn't accounted for when planning: Emma Swan. He has no sooner disengaged the alarm system and crouched down to the safe when a puff of air hits the shell of his ear and he knows he isn't alone.

"Now, now, Killian. I can't let you do that," she says softly, the scent of her perfume surrounding him.

"I was here first, Swan. You can have my leftovers," he mumbles.

"I'm not one for sloppy seconds. You know that." The implications of the statement crawl under his skin and he has to bite the inside of his cheek instead of responding. One drunken night at the pub, he'd asked her on a date, only to find that she knew every intimate detail of his relationship, and subsequently the break-up, with his former partner in crime. Apparently after leaving him high and dry a few months prior, and after he narrowly escaped being caught for the job Milah botched, she decided to tell anyone else in the business all of _his_ business.

"Low blow. Even for you. I could say some things about Cassidy, but that would be bad form, and you know I don't believe in that." He glances over his shoulder when he says it, and watches as Emma's smug smile drops like lead from her face.

She's suddenly standing and turning away from him, mumbling something about being a dick about the whole thing, and Killian rolls his eyes. It's not the first time they've had this interaction, and it certainly won't be the last. At least, he hopes it won't be. Not entirely sure where that thought comes from, he returns to his work and tries to push thoughts of Emma from his mind. He manages the first tumbler with no problem, but then Emma's behind him again.

"You're doing it wrong," she murmurs, and she's far too close. This time he can actually feel the heat of her skin near his, and knows for a fact she's playing dirty.

"Weren't you ever taught to not play with fire, Swan?" He's so close to having the second tumbler tripped, but then her hand is on his shoulder and he overshoots it. He swears under his breath and closes his eyes for a moment. In one smooth movement he rises and faces her, and maybe she wasn't expecting him to respond, because she dances back a few steps as quickly as possible to put space between them. "Ah, you can dish it out, but won't take it, is that it then?"

He watches her countenance change again, a sultry smile spreading over her lips as her eyes glint with mischief. "Oh, I can take it." One of her hands slides up his chest and he fights to keep his breathing even, to not let his body react. "I can take it all if you'd just get out of my way and let me at that safe."

"Not a chance, love." He goes to remove her hand, but instead his rests over top hers. They stand there, a stalemate of stubborn personalities, until both of their watches beep and they both jump away from each other. "Listen, I'll cut you in for a quarter if you help, or get the hell out of my way."

"Three quarters."

"Not a bloody chance in hell, love. Half."

"Deal!" The grin she flashes him is one of triumph, and Killian knows he walked into that deal all on his own. He scrubs a hand over his face before he rolls his eyes right out of his head. She prances behind him to the safe and enters the first number that Killian already got and starts on the second. She's halfway to it when he speaks up again.

"Half, and go for a drink with me."

Instead of overshooting the number like he did, she stops just in time. By the quirking of her lips, he guesses she got it.

"What are you playing at, Jones?" she whispers before she starts turning the dial again.

"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. If I have to negotiate my way into a date with you, then so be it. Do you agree?" As he finishes speaking, he moves to stand next to her, his knee at her elbow. One push and she'll lose her grip. He knows he's the one fighting dirty now, but she's cost him two jobs before and half of this one. He's at least owed a drink with the lass at this point, his past and her past be damned. "Well?"

Emma sighs, heavy and annoyed, before her eyes flicker to his. Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it's there. "Fine."

He instantly moves back. "Excellent," he whispers. He's standing just behind her, listening for anyone approaching when she calls for him.

"Killian," she whispers, and he's shocked to hear his name for once. "I can't get it."

By her side in an instant, he presses his hand against the door of the safe and feels for the clicks. "Keep going," he urges. They're both quiet as her hand moves, spinning the dial as slowly as she can. "You've almost got it, Swan. Keep going."

With five more clicks, he can feel the shift, and the sigh of the tumbler giving way, and that's it. She looks at him, eyes wide and amazed.

"Now hurry," he whispers to her, the same joy reflected in his eyes.

Within ten minutes, they've taken their fill from the safe, the alarm is reactivated, and Killian and Emma are gone. If there's any luck on their side, the rich old bastard would never even know any of it was missing. And if he does, it'll be long out of their hands by the time that happens.

Twenty minutes after that, they're safely ensconced in the bar down the street from his apartment, clinking their beers in celebration, and thinking of the money they'll be splitting.

"So what happens now? I take half, we go our separate ways?"

"Not the best idea, Swan. Splitting it as is will make it harder to move. I have a contact that will take it and pay well and we can split the cash."

"I have contacts too, you know," she replies, a hint of petulance tinging her voice. He looks at her and tries to keep the smirk off his face.

"Aye, you do. And how many of them are still friendly since your split with Neal?"

The comment strikes another nerve, as any comment about her former partner and lover does, and his smile is apologetic and understanding. He'd had to find all new sources after Milah burned all his bridges for him. It's been over a year, and he still only has three shady business partners that he actually trusts.

"And how do I know you aren't just going to run off with it?" she asks, her fingers picking absently at the label on her bottle.

"Swan, I asked you out for a drink as part of an agreement. I'm a man of my word. I won't go back on it. Especially not with you."

She studies him for a moment, perhaps testing for any hints of a lie. He doesn't blame her. In their line of work, trusting the wrong person can lead to a broken heart in a bad scenario, and getting caught in the worst cases. She nods, the extent of how she'll show her trust for now.

They've each just finished another round when he excuses himself to use the bathroom. As he exits, Emma is walking in the small hallway to the ladies' room and her eyes glance down. He hears her scoff as she passes him and stops in his tracks.

"What now, Swan?"

"Your sense of style is just beyond me, Jones."

"Oh? Enlighten me. Should I be dressing in skintight black like you, pretending to be a spy? Wearing a bloody turtleneck?"

"At least I don't look stupid in mine."

"How does this look stupid?" He's positively incredulous at the whole exchange. Never has he considered his clothing _stupid_. "And what about your silly shoes?"

"They aren't silly, they're ballet flats. Like _actual_ ballet shoes. They're completely silent and don't leave any discernable prints. Unlike those clunkers you wear." She leans back against the wall, gesturing to his shoes nonchalantly as she does. He looks down at their shoes, but it clicks that she's not referring to a women's fashion item, she means shoes for the actual dance.

"You dance ballet?"

"Once, before I gave it up for stealing other people's shit for sport. And then there's your shirt."

"What's wrong with my shirt?" He glances down at it himself, but he still just sees the black Henley, buttons left open like he would any other shirt he wears. Nothing out of the ordinary. He glances again at her outfit, but it's mostly hidden now. The aforementioned black turtleneck and leggings covered up by a heavy sweater. Her curves and assets now hidden under the bulky and shapeless cable knits.

"It's ridiculous. I mean, what's the fucking point when most of your chest is exposed anyways?" She hooks her finger into the point of the V and they both immediately stop and hold their breath. Her index finger is in his shirt, brushing through the hair there, and to the warm skin underneath. He braces one hand on the wall by her head, and it might be his imagination, but her back arches ever so slightly outwards, coming closer to him.

"Regarding out deal, you're welcome to stay the night at my place. Keep an eye on your bounty." The rest of her fingers have curled into the neckline of his shirt, gingerly brushing against his chest. She can probably feel his increased heartrate, but she's too focused on his lips to notice much of anything at this point, he suspects.

"Yeah, I could do that. Make sure you stick to that whole good form bullshit you're always talking about."

"It's more than good form, Swan. It's _excellent_ ," he says, his hands balled in the soft wool of her sweater now. He wants nothing more than to drag her the extra three inches it would take to press of her against him, but not here. Because if they start here, they're never going to make it back to his place, and he'd rather not be dragged into one of the dingy bathrooms for what she's implying with her body language.

He clears his throat, mumbles something about settling the tab while she begs off to the bathroom since it was her original destination before they got caught up arguing about fashion choices in the thievery business. When she returns, he's downing the rest of his beer and reaching for his wallet. Her hand skims across his backside and she shoots him a seductive smile as he throws down a bill. It's probably more of a tip than the hole-in-the-wall bar deserves, but he no longer cares as he follows Emma out the door.

They're barely inside, the door just shut behind him when she shoves him against the wall with enough force to knock his head back against it.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," she says quickly, but whatever response he could've had is lost when her lips cover his.


	2. Chapter 2

_M Rating ahead. Don't read if that's your thing. Unapologetic smut._

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Killian wakes before the sun is fully up, the dim light just barely filtering through the curtains in his bedroom. He rolls to his back and stretches, and remembers that he's not alone the moment his hand makes contact with the long blonde strands that stretch between him and Emma. He's surprised she stayed. He's surprised she didn't take off after he fell asleep, rob him for all that he's worth like Milah did, and leave him to pick up the pieces. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be, given her history with Neal.

He takes a moment to observe his (former?) rival and bedmate. The covers are around her waist, leaving her top half nearly bare. Somehow they made it through their nighttime activities without ever removing her bra, and in the chilly morning air he can see her pert nipples pushing against the light blue lace. In sleep, she looks peaceful with her whole body relaxed. The tension he's used to seeing around her eyes and mouth is completely eased, and said lips are parted slightly as her soft and even breathing continues.

In her sleep, she rolls to him, the covers falling even lower on her hips, exposing the curve of her body from waist to mid-thigh, all bare. She curls against him and throws a leg over his, her thigh pressing against the half-hardness of his cock, growing harder at the feeling of her sex pressed against his hip. He needs to see all of her, craves it with every fiber of his being, and so the arm trapped under her body curls up until he reaches the clasp of her bra and snaps it open. She gasps awake at that and jerks as far away as his arm will allow. Upon seeing Killian peering up at her, she seems to relax again.

"Jesus, Jones. Didn't you get enough last night?" Her words carry the tone of annoyance one carries when startled awake, but the truth of her stance on the matter comes when she pushes her hips against him.

"With you, love, it will never be enough." His voice comes out as a low growl and he shifts them so Emma is on her back. With gentle fingers, he draws the straps of her bra off her shoulders, stripping away the hardly-concealing lace with reverence, his expression one of awe as each new inch is bared to him. The night before, they were by no means drunk, but they weren't sober and they didn't take their time.

Emma senses his shift of pace, and he's afraid she's going to balk, that she'll stop him and run like he keeps expecting her to. She freezes up, and he pulls back immediately, unwilling to push or rush her at all. He watches her face for what feels like hours, maybe days, watches the indecision war in her eyes for those moments until he sees the walls come crumbling down and she sheds the bra herself and tosses it to the side. Her arms go up above her head and she nods, her timid smile shooting hope through his veins. He slides his hands up her arms, taking a moment to link his fingers with hers.

When her breath catches, it's hard to tell if it's because of the tenderness if the action, or the skin to skin contact of their chests, the synchronicity of the rise and fall of their breathing, the moment their hearts start beating the same rhythm. Whatever it is, Killian goes with it, smiling encouragingly at her before he lowers his lips to hers and gives as much as he takes. This is just as much a negotiation as the one they made in front of the safe last night, but with less clothing.

Killian returns to his previous task of wanting to take in the sight of her, pulling away from her lips but keeping their hands clasped together. He starts with her face, memorizing the lazy contentment he finds there, something he wasn't expecting when this all began the night before.

"What, are you planning the easiest way to knock me out so you can keep the loot?" She arches her back as she asks, brushing her breasts against him, and he closes his eyes briefly to absorb the sensation.

"No. I'm flirting with you," he deadpans.

She chuckles, light and relaxed. "I think the time for flirting has passed, Jones." She breaks the contact of their hands to run her hands down his back, ending at his hips. She pulls him down as she rises up, rubbing him against her core.

"Bloody minx," he grunts as he follows her pace. One shift of his hips, one readjustment, and he's sliding into her and it's everything it was the night before and more. This time there is no urgency, no primal need to take, take, take. This time it's all about feeling, and he's feeling her gasp of pleasure, her legs wrapping around his waist, her breath hot against his ear as he places open-mouthed kisses along her jawline. The leisurely rhythm is all about sensation, and he follows her lead until she says otherwise.

It takes one whispered "faster" from her to change it all again, for him to shift to his knees, pulling her up in the process. He considers for a moment and looks around before grabbing one of his pillows from next to her head.

He taps her thigh gently. "Lift up, love," he says, groaning as she complies and he's still buried inside her. He places the pillow beneath her, hoping he got the angle right and thrusting for verification.

"Holy _shit,_ Killian," comes her breathy reply, and he grins down at her. Perfect. From there it's a matter of placing a hand on each hip and letting their bodies find the tempo that matches. He lets her breathy moans and gasps of his name guide him as he skims one hand up her stomach to between her breasts and she arches into his touch.

The sweat is starting to sheen on both of their bodies and he can't imagine anything looking more perfect than Emma Swan in the throes of passion, her body responding to each and every touch, even more so when he leads his hand back down to where they're joined and lightly thumbs at her clit. She starts cursing in earnest, the words tumbling out of her mouth between quick breaths that would make even the roughest sailor on the seven seas blush a red bright enough to put a tomato to shame.

Her body's pull is intoxicating and he can feel his climax approaching but struggles to hold on until after she's fallen. He is, after all, a gentleman and ladies always come first. But he knows he's found the right pressure when her hand clamps over his, her fingers holding his in the perfect placement and pressure as he continues to sink into her inviting heat. It's only a few thrusts later that he feels her walls tighten around him, her whole body going taut as she breathes out his name. His release follows hers as he pushes in once more before going still, one hand still gripping her hip tightly while the other remains trapped by hers.

Once the aftershocks fade, he finds himself with his forehead between her breasts, her hands stroking through his hair in a soothing manner.

"I don't mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team," he murmurs against her skin before lifting his head to look in her eyes.

The tenderness is back in her expression, and he decides then and there that he'll do whatever it takes to stay by her side. His tongue plays at the corner of his mouth for a second as he considers something.

"What do you say we partner up? You know, stop stealing and sabotaging each other's jobs and actually work together." When his voice comes out even and sure, he's proud of himself, because inside he can feel the ball of nerves churning in his stomach. It's been long enough since either of them worked with another, and both of those experiences did not end well. He would try to not take it personally if she rejects the idea, but he discovers that he well and truly means it.

"As long as we keep splitting it in half, and you keep buying my drinks," she says after a pause of consideration.

"Love, I'll buy you all the drinks you want, and a golden chalice with which to drink them if that's what your heart desires."

She rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same. "Just shut up and kiss me, Jones. We have a partnership to negotiate."

"As you wish," he promises, and he can still feel her smiling when he kisses her.

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 **A/N: A huge thank you to any of you who read, favorited, and/or reviewed the whole process of the Pervy Thirty ficlets. While I feel this one warranted it's own post, the rest can be found in "Always You" starting with "Can I Kiss You?".**


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